


Compromise

by varooooom



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, dumb married super soldiers being dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:01:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2657960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varooooom/pseuds/varooooom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky keeps telling Steve that punching things won't fix his problems. One day, it'll get through his fat head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting on my phone for literally forever, so I finally said fuck it and tried to slap some semblance of a coherent ending onto it. I apologise for me.
> 
> I mostly wanted to play with Steve's anger ( boy has a lot of it ) and Bucky helping him through some of it. This is mostly just schmoopy garbage and Bucky trying to help Steve work through his issues, because even if Bucky has maybe sometimes disassociative episodes of being a brainwashed Russian assassin robot, Steve still has capital I _Issues_. Call the Times.
> 
> Thanks again to [remuke](http://archiveofourown.org/users/remuke) for reminding me how much I suck. ♥!

Sometimes Bucky wakes up and Steve is gone. Metaphorically, at times - when he can't differentiate between nightmare and memory, when he lapses back into the scarred wreck of a creature that Hydra built to forget everything that once made him human - but physically more often than not. The odd hours that Bucky finally does find sleep are generally to blame. Night brings a darkness that welcomes far too much of his own, the shadows that sprawl across the walls just a little too familiar for him to ever truly relax. Those are hours spent reading or watching TV or doing literally anything but sleeping, and Steve is always there for them. Bucky's told him time and again that he doesn't need to be babysat, ' _you need as much beauty sleep as you can get, old man_ ', but Steve only laughs and kisses his temple and doesn't call him out on the lie.

He needs him. He needs him most at night, because Steve became his Sun at seven years old and by some grace of God still shines for him now ninety years later.

Daytime is easier, because it leaves room for Bucky to wear himself out with exercise or catching up on the world he's walked in a daze or whatever ridiculous scheme Steve, Nat, Sam, or any variation of the Avengers thereof come up with to reintegrate him into society. He can pass out on the couch or drag Steve to their bed for some noon o'clock cuddles, and though it only lasts two or three hours at best, sleep is sleep and Bucky ain't arguing. It's just the waking up alone part that bothers him.

For the first several months, Steve wouldn't have dared. Every single footstep was so meticulously planned in the seconds before falling so that he would never risk upsetting Bucky in any way, shape, or form, and Bucky knows the cost of that caution. It made itself known in the tired bruises beneath sky-blue eyes and the creases between his brows that stayed even when Steve smiled. He would never want Bucky thinking he'd abandoned him, and it took the better half of a year before Bucky finally managed to convince him that ' _giving me my life back doesn't mean you have to give up your own_ '. He's awake now, _truly_ awake for the first time in seventy years. If he's gonna have to live in this world, he wants Steve awake to live it with him, and they have to be their own people to be able to walk side by side.

It's been a year. Bucky can wake up to Steve gone without worrying it was all a dream and Steve can go off on his own without thinking he'll come back to finding out the same. A little independence goes a long way, or as Stark likes to put it, "You two aren't _actually_ going on a hundred, please stop acting like a married old couple. Seriously, it's sickening, you're giving us all diabetes and the Avengers healthcare plan isn't _that_ extensive."

So - honest, it's not the being alone part that gets Bucky on edge. It's where Steve's gotten off to _this_ time. Usually it's something innocuous, like grocery shopping or lunch with Sharon or what the fuck ever Captain America boring shit Bucky will happily sleep through, which is all well and fine. But the other times, the times when there isn't something penciled on their fridge calendar because Steve is too old fashioned to have things programmed into his phone, even though JARVIS does it all for him - those times, Bucky has to go looking. And Bucky fucking _hates_ looking.

Something about it just sets pins and needles under his skin. Maybe it's the months spent in the reverse, when Steve was on his tail, chasing him around the globe when he should've been running the opposite direction. Maybe it's because he remembers now too clearly how many times he went looking for a scrawny little punk and usually found him in a bloodied heap beneath some knucklehead; their bullies are a little more of the world-domination variety instead of the vaguely insulting variety these days, but the fear of finding Steve crumpled and broken beyond anything Bucky can repair is still equally as tangible and devastating.

( He tries not to consider the idle thought in the back of his mind that tells him one day he'll find Steve with a newfound distance in his eyes, when it all finally becomes too much to deal with, because Steve will always deserve so much more than what this broken shadow of a man has to offer. )

It takes a few minutes to cycle through bleary-eyed confusion, fear, annoyance, and then fond exasperation to finding his best-friend-brother-boyfriend-person-thing every time this happens. No panic attacks anymore, or calling Natalia to breathe furious Russian into the next cracked smartphone until their lost golden retriever is found, but rather an easy step back into a sort of operative mindset. _Sort of_ , because Bucky puts a great deal of effort into telling the Winter Soldier that Steve Rogers is not his mission anymore, but tracking down a restless super soldier still takes some measure of calculation. 

He weighs Steve's mood throughout the day, how closely he's been hovering at his side, whether or not he ate all of his breakfast or covertly slid some of it onto Bucky's plate under the guise of giving him his favorites, things like that. For all that he's supposed to be a top clearance super secret special soldier, Steve is an open book. He can't lie worth a damn and wears his heart on his sleeve as brazenly as the flag, things Bucky both loves and despairs of the man.

Sometimes Bucky finds him on the roof, sketching the sunset or listening to another of Sam's albums. Sometimes he finds him jogging along one of their well worn paths, or sitting on a bench and watching others pass him by without stopping for his autograph. Once - and only just the once - he found him at the museum, watching a version of themselves with fewer lines etched into their faces and a lost brightness in their eyes. That time broke what little had been repaired of Bucky's heart, and Maria had a Hell of a time explaining away why Steve Rogers and James Barnes lookalikes were seen kissing desperately in the middle of a public theater. 

( "Just - please, guys, no sucking face around children. We need to be on our best behavior for the public", so now they only ever go together, and only once every other month or so when they both need the reminder of what they have, then and now, between each other's fingers. )

Today, though - today, Steve was quiet. And a quiet Steve never means anything good, because he's perfected the art of the silent rage, the disappointed father glare that makes you feel more shame than any shouted account of your many failings ever could. It's almost never directed at Bucky and today isn't an exception, which actually worries him _more_ because at least he can figure out where to make a start when it's something he fucked up himself. The Other Transgressions on Steve Rogers' list are many, most of which tend to be moral bankruptcies that seventy years on ice still can't right properly. Steve always did have a knack for picking fights not easily won.

Still, having that much makes tracking him down a lot easier. Bucky doesn't even put on any shoes, just rises from the couch on one elongated stretch until blood flows back into his arm before padding his way downstairs. Tony installed a fitness center in the Tower for everyone to use, but Steve managed to charm his way far enough into JARVIS' good graces to get the room with all the boxing equipment to himself. They could spar in there without too many spare eyes watching him for a slip-up, but now that he's ( mostly ) earned their trust, it's generally used as Steve's personal cocoon, exactly as it is now.

Bucky manages to coerce his way through the locked door ( ' _plausible deniability, JARVIS, just say you could've_ sworn _the door was locked, we can't blame you for Tony's faulty programming_ ' ), and Steve is so entranced in his workout that he doesn't even notice the intrusion. Bucky leans his good shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, and watches as the good Captain wails on what appears to be his third punching bag of the day. There's a grace to his movements, a refined control even in spite of the righteous fury echoing from every slap of flesh against leather. The kid was a force of nature long before his shoulders grew broad enough to carry the weight of the world, and Bucky watches him now: short, clipped jabs, the rolling of his muscles along his back, the tightly wound cords of his neck where it's lowered in his focus.

Something burns, deep within him. The Sun at the center of a galaxy too vast to reach every corner. Steve struggles with the idea that even on the brightest of days, there will still be shadows. Sometimes, Bucky wakes up and Steve is gone from his own mind, lost in his own demons. What a sad pair they make. 

Bucky smiles faintly and walks over, "Who're we fighting today, Stevie?"

Steve jumps in surprise, pulled away from his own headspace, and cracks a knuckle the wrong way on a bad throw. He hisses and starts tugging impatiently at the wraps around his wrist, so Bucky takes the task from him and carefully unrolls it, glancing up every few seconds to watch Steve's expression. There's a frown on his lips, even though they're parted to gasp from exertion, sweat dripping from his temple to his neck. Just how long has he been down here?

"Donald Carlson," Steve answers eventually, fingers flexing in Bucky's grasp to test the injury; Bucky swats at them with a tut.

"Donnie? That little brat that tied Miss Rachel's shoelaces together in the third grade?" Steve grunts in confirmation, and Bucky frowns. "Well gee, Cap, you really _are_ ridding the world of evil."

He tosses the tape on the ground ( Steve doesn't even chastise him for his characteristic laziness, which is sign enough of the state he's in ) and runs his thumb over the back of Steve's knuckles until he finds the tweaked one, lifting it to his lips. It finally gets Steve to smile, and his free hand rises to rest on Bucky's hip. They always stay close like this in the moments when their thoughts are too active for them to keep up. One last anchor to reality, to _now_ , so they don't go chasing down ninety year old ghosts. Bucky kisses his knuckles again before glancing down to the two broken bags laying in one massive pile of sand.

"If this one's Donnie Carlson, who were those two?"

Steve hums noncommittally, dropping his sweaty forehead to Bucky's, which - gross. Sometimes he hates that the little punk is still taller than him, even with the serum ( or some bastardized version of it ) running through his veins too.

"Come on, guy," Bucky says, hushed, and lifts his left hand to Steve's cheek in an effort to get him to actually _look_ at him. It works, only just, but Steve's eyes are too sad to match the reserved smile on his lips when he turns to kiss a metal palm. 

_Oh_. So _that's_ why they're here. Bucky swallows hard, "Talk to me."

"I just ..." Steve trails off, shaking his head with his eyes closed, which only prompts him to lean into Bucky's hand for another kiss, this time to a wrist that will never carry a pulsepoint. Bucky's heart stutters in his chest. "I get mad sometimes, you know? About everything that happened - to you, and ... to the _world_ , I guess. After all the good men that gave their lives for something that continued to fester anyway, I just - I get so mad, I want to hunt down every last one of them and kill them myself."

"Hey, now," Bucky frowns, pulling back enough for Steve to see his face in full, the concern written there beneath an affected sardonic smile, "That ain't you, mister goody two-shoes. You're not that man."

Steve huffs, almost a laugh, and Bucky decides immediately that he hates the sound of it. "Yeah, Buck. I kind of am. You weren't -" _there_ , but of course he wasn't, because he was - Steve changes course, shakes his head and tries again. "You didn't see me, after you fell. If it weren't for Peggy, I might've taken one of Howard's P-51's and had it out right then and there."

He pulls away and turns his back on him, which hurts Bucky more than it really has any right to.

"Maybe then our deaths would've actually meant something."

" _Hey_ -"

"Three times, Bucky," he interrupts, hurriedly unwrapping his other hand and adding it to the pile at his feet. "Three times, I failed you. When I couldn't -" he pauses, rubbing at his knuckles, and Bucky doesn't know if he's soothing out the pain or the kisses that he left there - "When I didn't catch you, on the train. When I didn't get to you before Zola and his men. And when you went and cleaned up all my messes for me, _again_ , like you always have."

His feet turn leaden and his blood runs cold - not fear, not even anger, but the remnants of winter that will never leave him. Months of being chased around the globe, and all Steve ever found of him was a trail of bodies and burnt out buildings until his work was done. Bucky doesn't regret it. There's blood on his hands, and he washed it away with Hydra's. For that, he can't feel anything but satisfied, even if it still leaves him stained.

That's the difference between them. Steve can pull a trigger without hesitating any more than Bucky might, but he carries every bullet back home with him. Life just means more in a way it doesn't with Bucky.

"You're not that man," he repeats, firmer this time with none of the cheek. Steve's shoulders stiffen and Bucky uproots himself to walk forward, to tug him back around by the wrist. "Look at me, would you?"

Steve keeps his head ducked, but he does look up, guilt and shame and that constant low-burning rage in his eyes. Some things don't change, when everything else in the world has; Steve still stands as the immovable object against an unstoppable force, and Bucky stands beside him, wondering when it'll be enough. If ever. 

He shakes his head, knocks his knuckles fondly against Steve's forehead. "You gotta stop getting it all twisted, pal. Way I see it, you saved me three times. When I was next to dead on Zola's table, when I was dead in all the ways that counted in the Soldier's chair -" Steve inhales sharply and Bucky pushes on, putting his hand back on his cheek to keep him here, to keep them both on the same path, "- and when you cleaned me up after fightin' my way through the muck, like you always have."

They've talked about it too many times for Steve to not understand. Bucky didn't have a name or a face or anything close to his own life to live until Steve gave it back to him. He's gotta understand, but he still gets lost. Still can't always reach the right conclusion, so Bucky gives him a light slap in the right direction. Steve chuckles quietly and pulls Bucky's hand away from his cheek, squeezing it tight and holding on fast. Still here. Bucky smiles.

" _That's_ who you are. The guy that puts people back on their feet and shoves them forward. People don't follow you just 'cause you've got a star on your chest or some rank you pulled outta your ass, _Cap_." 

He thinks of a ten year old boy, too frail and weak by far to be able to stand tall in a world stacked against him - covered in blood, bruised and beaten, but on his feet and daring anyone to stop him. The image is clear now, after a year of fighting back the haze, and Bucky's chest still swells with pride and awe and irritation in equal measure.

"We follow you 'cause you fight to make this shitty world a better place, and when you're standin' next to something that _good_ ," he shakes his head, "it makes you wanna be good enough to fight beside you. That's who you are, Steve. Everyone's hope that one day, things'll get better. And eventually, I'm gonna beat it into that thick skull of yours that this ain't about who's to blame for what, or what we should and shouldn't've done. None of that matters anymore. You told me that."

Steve hums or groans, Bucky isn't sure which, but he retorts with fingers wrapped in blonde hair and a long, drawn out kiss, making sure to leave the rat bastard too breathless to grumble another useless argument. It works, more or less, and Steve stays warm and pliant between his hands. Metal on one side, flesh on the other, mismatched pieces of different people fighting different wars - but they're whole. Or they can be. One day, things'll get better.

They have to.

"M'not gonna believe it until you do, buster," Bucky says softly, then slaps Steve's cheek one more time. "So start working on it." Steve sighs and - really, Bucky oughta punch him, but he knows it's theatrical and Steve beats him to it with another stolen kiss, quick and apologetic. It's good enough for now. Bucky pulls them apart and starts back towards the door. "'Til then, though, you need a shower."

"Yeah, okay," Steve says dully, almost forlorn. He stays standing where he was, hands on his ridiculously narrow hips and eyes glaring at the mess of equipment around him. Bucky rolls his eyes and keeps walking away.

"That means now, Rogers. Or I'munna use up all the hot water without you."

The soft pad of Steve hurrying after him makes Bucky smile to himself, pleased. They'll be okay. And if not - well, they always manage to find each other again eventually.


End file.
